


If I Gave You My Heart (Would You Break It)

by BlueJay_Silvertongue



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Because that episode needed to be an hour longer, Eve is useless, F/F, Obsession, post-Season 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-05-15 08:27:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14786964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueJay_Silvertongue/pseuds/BlueJay_Silvertongue
Summary: Follows Eve immediately after the season finale, through a series of safe houses, until the one house that... isn't.





	1. I Can't Take It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We will resume normal Wonder Woman broadcasting in a minute, but I have been SHOOK by the Killing Eve finale (and the entire season) and this just kind of happened. 
> 
> If you haven't seen Killing Eve, watch it, and then come back unless you want the whole thing spoiled.

Carolyn is angry, at least, she stutters something along the lines of, _What do you mean, you’re in Paris? You didn’t…? Well. Well, right, then._ And then a car is pulling up beside Eve on the street, and the nondescript man inside silently raises a hand, and it’s off to the first of dozens upon dozens of safe houses.

She and Elena come to meet her that night, and Eve babbles some nonsense, recounts the moment of the stabbing again and again, drops her cup of tea, sending broken glass and hot tea across the linoleum floor, and she remembers smashing the bottles of wine and the tiny jars of makeup and perfume… and the next thing she knows, she’s crying on Carolyn’s shoulder, Elena hovering uncomfortably in the background.

But the worst is when they’ve all gone, and the house is silent. The bodyguards had introduced themselves when she arrived, but she can’t even remember their faces, much less their names. She sits for a while, breathing, but the bed is so hard, she might as well be sleeping on the floor, and the bedspread is thin as a sheet. She lies down and tosses and turns. Her heart won’t stop hammering.

In another world, another life, she flopped over onto that bed,  _God, I’m tired,_ and then fell asleep. This was all a dream. She was asleep, she dreamed the entire thing, hell, she probably got onto that damn plane, ordered some godawful liquor, and dreamt up the entire trip to Paris, there’s no way she’d ever do something like—she’d never be so obsessive, so irrational, so _reckless_ as to fly to Oksana’s apartment, and then _stab_ her—

The closet lets out a loud creak.

Eve’s eyes fly open. She’s leapt up, heart pounding out of her chest, hands clutching at the sheet, half torn away from the bed as if to throw, to suffocate. The light is still on.

“Oksana?”

She stands stock-still in the middle of the room for ten minutes before working up the courage to cross the floor, open the closet doors, and stare into the empty depths.

* * *

 

_Hi, this is Niko. Leave a message, and then text me to let me know you’ve left a message, because I always forget to check them._

 

Oksana had left her phone there, between Frank’s legs, that night.

And try as she may, Eve couldn’t bring herself to throw it out.

Or change her password.

 

But one thing had been different.

There had been a new number. And instead of contact info, there was a winking smiley face.

One of the first things Eve does is get a new phone, new number, new everything. She had no idea what Oksana, or The Twelve might have done to her phone, tracking, maybe, or gutting all her contacts, all her data, all her terribly mundane text messages with Niko, her snarky voicemails from Bill.

But she still keeps it charged.

Still carries it with her.

Just in case.

* * *

 

The first time she’s moved out to a different safe house, she panics. She’d just started getting into a comfortable nighttime routine: She closes the door. Shuts the blinds. Checks in the closet. Checks under the bed. Checks the nightstand for her gun. Takes down her hair. Puts on an audiobook. Lies down. Closes her eyes. Falls asleep to stories of sunsets and lavender fields.

“There’s been a complication. We need to move you.”

“Complication? What complication? Has there been a development with Oksana? Was there another kill? Has she been spotted? Is she in London?”

But Carolyn had said nothing, and Eve finds herself staring out at the fields and leafless trees, remembering another day, another time when she stepped out of a car, and _she_ was standing at the end of the road.

The new house has a tree outside the bedroom window. The branches scratch against the glass, and send shadows across the wall and floor.

Eve can’t decide if it’s better with the curtains open or closed.

* * *

 

_I think about you all the time… I just wanna know everything._

If Eve had thought she was obsessed with Oksana before… before, then it was _nothing_ compared to after.

She sees Oksana in the mirror. On the walls. On the ceiling. On the floor. In the sink. Sees her sitting at the kitchen table. The living room table. The patio table. The bedroom table.

 _You don’t look happy to see me,_ she says, smirking, one leg over the armrest, foot swinging nonchalantly. Her face is still puffy, lip bruised, bloodied. Sometimes, there is a pool of red spreading across her stomach. Sometimes there isn’t. Sometimes she’s smiling, soft, fiercely tender.

Sometimes she’s angry. Cold. Ruthless.

_Oksana, please. Please._

Sometimes, she looms over her at night, stabbing her again and again. But other times…

Other times, she imagines pinning the assassin onto the bed, but instead of stabbing her, she kisses her, and keeps kissing her, and Oksana cries out, but not in pain this time, but in pleasure, and she moans her name over and over and over—

And Eve’s back arches off the bed as she comes, and she falls back, heart pounding, body tingling.

She wonders if the bodyguards can hear. She wonders if they wonder why she calls out the name of the woman she tried to kill.

Sometimes, she wonders, too.

* * *

 

“I just need something, anything, I can’t stand it, I can’t stand these safe houses, I can’t stand just existing, I can’t stand not _doing anything_ when I _know_ she’s out there, if I just went out there, she’d come to me, she’ll come for me, I know she will, if I _just—”_

“It was never about Oksana, Eve.”

“...what?”

“The investigation. This… case. It was never about you, and it was never about her. It’s much bigger than that. And you refused to see it. You made it all about you and your obsession with this woman, and you made mistake after mistake in Russia—”

“Um, excuse me? I’m the one who got them to agree to release Nadia, I’m the one who found Anna, I’m the one who found Irina, and what were you doing? Oh, that’s right, you were out there _fucking_ all your old buddies in the Russian secret services—”

“That’s quite enough, Eve. That is… quite enough.”

* * *

 

After a while, the safe houses feel normal. Routine.

After a while, she stops checking her closet and under her bed every night.

After a while, she stops calling Niko’s voicemail to hear his voice.

After a while, she stops waiting for Carolyn to visit.

After a while, she begins to forget why she’s here, and actually starts to feel safe.

And that’s when she appears.

* * *

 

_Oksana..._

_It’s okay. Go back to sleep._

And Eve sighs and buries her head into a warm shoulder, lets careful fingers comb through her hair, brush down the side of her face.

And then she smells the blood.

And she screams. 

* * *

 

“You… you, you!”

She leans back on her elbows, smiling. Her shirt is black, but Eve can still see the dark patch across the front.

_The bodyguards…_

“Oh, don’t look like that. Lie back down. You were doing so well.”

“No… no, no, no—”

 _“Eve…”_ Oksana reaches for her hand, and she tumbles back onto the bed, with its mattress as hard as the floor, and its thin bedspread. “There. That’s better.”

And then she twists around and clicks off the light, plunging them into the smooth, suffocating dark.

“I’m so tired, Eve.”

She sounds tired. But Eve can almost hear her cold heart pounding with excitement, making the bed tremble, making her shiver as she presses herself into the unyielding mattress, trying to make herself as small as possible.

“I found you.”

Her voice is light. Soft. Dangerous.

“I’m sorry, Oksana, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I swear I regretted it the moment I _—_ ”

_“Shhh.”_

They lie in silence for a moment, and she can imagine, she can almost imagine that everything is okay. Everything is fine, they’re just going to close their eyes, and it will be dark, and they’ll lie here, breathing together, just breathing…

“There’s just… there’s just one thing I want to do, Eve.”

Eve’s heart skips a beat, and she opens her mouth to reply, but all that comes out is a little squeak of fear.

“No. No, Eve. Don’t be afraid.” Her voice is barely a whisper.

The gun. The gun is in the nightstand, if she can just lunge over, if she can just shock her, surprise her, get the gun, press it against her head, pull the trigger, and then it will be this same damn cycle all over again, Oksana in her bed, her blood everywhere, gasping in pain, screaming in pain, but maybe even dead this time, and Eve running hysterically through the house, grasping at towels, at anything to help, anything to stop her precious Oksana from bleeding out on the bed, from dying in front of her eyes…

“Your heart is racing.”

She’s close. She’s so close.

And then she kisses her, and there is nothing else.

The voices in her head, the imaginary figures sprawled out over furniture, the mind-numbing stories about lavender fields, it’s all gone. There’s nothing but the weight of her breathing, in and out as she lies on top of her, nothing but the press of her lips against hers, of her tongue as it slips between her teeth, of her hands as they reach up and grip her hair.

_Oksana, please. Please._

And Oksana doesn’t stop, and her lips trail down to her neck, and her fingers are fumbling with her pajama buttons, and her hands are cool against her skin, and her mouth is hungry as it sucks at her collarbone, and it’s perfect, and mind-numbing, and ecstatic, and it feels so good, and so necessary, and so _right_

 _…_ she barely even feels the knife as it slips between her ribs.


	2. New Phone Who Dis?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eve tries to piece together her life after being stabbed.

* * *

**To: ;)**

**Eve (17:33)** I her u

 

**Eve (20:17)** I hate you

**Eve (20:17)** I hate you

**Eve (20:17)** Sorry that send twice

 

**Eve (02:58)** I’m not sorry

 

**To: Niko**

**Eve (04:35)** I hate this and I hate you

**Eve (04:40)** NO WAIT JESUS THATS NOT FOR YOU FUCK

**Eve (04:40)** FUCK

**Eve (04:40)** INGORE

**Eve (04:41)** I don’t hate you

**Eve (04:45)** Someone else

**Eve (04:45)** Please don’t be mad

**Eve (04:46)** Sorry your sleeping

 

**To: ;)**

**Eve (04:46)** FUCK YOU

**Eve (04:46)** I HATE YOU

**Eve (04:48)** PAIN

**Eve (05:31)** I hate toy because you fuck with everyone lives and you don’t care about you enjoying it and you enjoy killing and destroying family and I lost everything because of you and you don’t think stick about it and that’s terrible oksanerna I hope you fuckong die

* * *

 

Eve opens her eyes.

“Good morning, sunshine.”

Elena’s smiling down at her. She’s eating a croissant. Eve stares down at the hospital linens, the silver rails along the bed, the movable curtains hanging from the ceiling behind Elena’s smiling head. And then she feels it, the faint, drug-numbed throb under her left rib.

“Oh, for _God’s…”_

“The doctors said you were lucky. Didn’t hit any vital organs. You’ll be out by tonight.”

Eve raises a hand, glares at the IVs protruding from the back of her hand, and resorts rubbing her other hand across her eyes as she yawns widely.

“I’m not... going back.”

“Well, no, Carolyn said you’ll be moved to another—”

“Where’s my phone?”

“Here.” Elena hands it to her, and she clicks it on. No messages. No missed calls, nothing. Eve tosses it back onto the mattress and stares at Elena’s face.

“Did they find her?”

Elena freezes in the middle of pulling another croissant from her bag.

“Who?”

She doesn’t look at her.

“What do you mean _who?_ ”

“Um...”

“Um, what?!”

But then a nurse hurries in, and Elena gives a relieved sigh, then slips out before Eve can demand the truth.

* * *

 

_Suicide attempt._

That’s what the nurses are whispering to each other.

That’s what they think.

And no matter what Eve tries to tell them, or anyone about Villanelle, about the world-class assassin sneaking into her safe house bedroom to stab her in the middle of the night, no one believes her. 

* * *

 

**To: ;)**

**Eve (21:01)** FUCK YOU OKSANA

 

**Eve (23:23)** FUCK YOU

 

**;) (0:00)** New phone who dis?

 

**Eve (00:01)** FUCK

**Eve (00:01)** FUCK

**Eve (00:02)** FUCK

**Eve (00:02)** YOU

**Eve (00:02)** OKSANA

**Eve (00:02)** FUCK

 

**Eve (02:13)** I’m sorry I stabbed you

**Eve (02:14)** This is really terrible

**Eve (02:21)** I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t mean to

**Eve (02:22)** I mean I meant to kill you

**Eve (02:22)** But I didn’t mean to hurt you

**Eve (02:41)** That doesn’t make sense

**Eve (03:02)** Please say something

 

**;) (03:03)** I don’t know who you are, but it sounds like you have issues

 

**Eve (03:03)** Don’t do that

 

**;) (03:04)** Do what?

 

**Eve (03:04)** Stop pretending

 

**;) (03:04)** Seriously?

 

**Eve (03:04)** What?

 

**;) (03:10)** What was it you were doing before you stabbed me?? 

* * *

 

Sometimes Eve dreams of sending messages, sharing phone calls, sharing her bed, and then she checks her phone in the morning and realize none of it occured.

But one night, a conversation does happen.

And it’s most certainly Oksana’s number.

Eve replies in the morning, pleading for her to understand.

By noon, she’s angry again, and cursing at the assassin for ruining the lives of everyone she’s ever laid eyes on: Anna, Nadia, Konstantin, Eve...

By the time she lies down again for the night, she’s fighting back tears, missing her husband, missing her life, missing Bill, and missing something that she doesn’t know… missing someone she… can’t…

No.

She doesn’t know what she wants. What she misses.

It’s safer to not know, to not think about it.

* * *

 

**;) (00:00)** I’m not even going to read those last eight messages.

**;) (00:00)** This is all getting very old, Eve.

**;) (00:00)** You don’t hate me and you know it.

**;) (00:04)** How much painkiller are they giving you??

 

**Eve (00:10)** You murdered my best friend.

 

**;) (00:12)** He was following me...

 

**Eve (00:13)** So you murder everyone who follows you?

 

**;) (03:10)** What do you think?

 

**;) (03:50)** Do you still think about me all the time?

 

**Eve (04:04)** Fuck you.

 

**;) (04:05)** You think about fucking me? =D

 

**Eve (04:10)** JESUS

 

**;) (04:11)**...you think about fucking Jesus? :O

 

**Eve (04:12)** I’m done talking now.

 

**;) (04:13)** Okay. Good night. 

* * *

 

Elena texts her once, apologizes for not having any more information, and she doesn’t reply to Eve’s multiple messages asking for Carolyn, for Kenny, for anyone, anything. Kenny calls her once and mumbles some things about being sorry for his mother, and Elena having a new job in MI6, and how much he hates university.

And then he doesn’t call back again.

Eve doesn’t remember being moved to this room, this house, but it’s been a week, and she wonders if maybe they really are giving her a little more painkiller than necessary. The morphine dulls her senses, and hallucinations whisper past the insides of her eyelids. Even when she opens her eyes, she sees them dancing across the blank walls of the room... Niko, strolling towards her down the sidewalk, grinning, flowers in the crook of his arm, hand raised and waving, as if there was anything else in the world she’d be looking at except for him… Carolyn pacing up and down the prison corridor, Vlad at one end, Konstantin at the other, both with their arms crossed, both frowning, and suddenly they all freeze, staring at each other, and then they throw back their heads and laugh… Eve, sitting in her favorite corner of the library, her nose buried in some gimmicky book about female serial killers; an open textbook lays forgotten on the desk… and then Oksana is there, standing behind her, hands on her shoulders, fingers weaving through her hair, brushing it out of the way so she can press her cold lips against her neck… and then they’re in her kitchen, and the straps of that dress slip down her arms, and she’s shivering as the expensive fabric pools at her feet, but Oksana’s arms are warm around her, and her breath tickles as she rests her chin on her shoulder.

_You have a very nice body._

_Stop that, you said you wouldn’t look._

_I’m not, see, my eyes are closed._

_...I shouldn’t be laughing. You killed my best friend._

_I’ve killed a lot of people._

_That… doesn’t help._

_Why does it bother you so much? Everyone dies, eventually._

_You could be happy._

_I am happy._

_No, you’re not. Happy people don’t—_

_Are you? Are you happy, Eve Polastri?_

_...fuck you._

_Are we there already? I didn’t think we were there._

_Oksana…_

_We’ve only just stabbed each other, you know, I didn’t think we were ready for the next—_

_God, Oksana…_

_What? Do you like this?_

_Jesus, shut up and just… just fucking..._  

* * *

 

Eve’s eyes fly open. The room is pitch dark. It was a dream, she was dreaming. She’s drugged. Strange, drugged dreams. That’s all.

Her body is still tingling with the feeling of Oksana’s hands. She’s throbbing, down there, aching, wanting… she groans and leans over to pick up her phone, and she squints at the sight of two new messages.

 

**;) (02:13)** You’re moaning in your sleep a lot.

**;) (03:37)** Are you dreaming about me?? I heard my name… :)

 

Eve stares, a chill going down her spine, then she throws off the covers and fumbles for the lamp on the nightstand. She clicks it on, but nothing happens. The room is pitch black.

_“Fuck._ Fuck, fuck, _fuck...”_

And then the chair in the corner creaks.

Loudly, as if on purpose.

Eve freezes, terror drenching her like a bucket of ice water, and her heart drops into her stomach, right past the gaping hole that Oksana’s knife had carved into her days ago...

“Oksana?”

There’s no answer.

Eve fumbles with her phone and turns on the flashlight.

And she’s there, she’s there, _she’s there,_ sitting with one leg over the arm of the chair, and she’s… wearing Eve’s clothes. There’s a pile of rumpled clothes in the corner, and a faint, musty smell in the room.

“What—”

But Oksana just raises a finger to her lips, and raises the gun in her hand.

_“Turn it off.”_

Eve’s hands are shaking so badly, she drops her phone onto the bed and seizes a pillow to cover the blinding light. Her heart is pounding in her ears. The chair creaks again, but Oksana’s footsteps don’t cross the room, Oksana’s voice doesn’t whisper or speak, Oksana’s skin doesn’t brush against her own.

And Eve lies back, shaking, staring up at the ceiling, waiting for the brush of a knife, the explosion of a gunshot.

But nothing happens.

* * *

 

At some point, she must have closed her eyes, because the next thing she knows, she’s opening them, and sunlight is streaming into the room.

And the chair is empty.

Eve clears her throat and fumbles on her nightstand for her other phone. There’s one unread message waiting for her.

 

**Carolyn (06:45)** Vilanelle escaped from prison last night. I’ve sent additional security. Don’t leave the house.

 

Eve stares groggily, then rubs the sleep out of her eyes as she digs under the pillow for her old phone. The battery is nearly dead, but she flicks the screen and types out a new message.

 

**Eve (07:23)** Where are you?

 

The message sends and she falls back onto the pillows. Breathing in and out. So Oksana was in prison. Maybe… maybe she’d been in prison all this time… maybe it was all... but no. Why would she stab herself? Why would she hallucinate her own stabbing, why would she imagine Oksana in her room, stabbing her, and then she actually end up being stabbed—

 

_“Oksana, please… fuck. Fuck, FUCK, Oksana...”_

 

There’s a sound… a sound coming from underneath her bed.

It’s a recording.

A text alert.

Eve sits up so quickly, she can almost feel all of her stitches ripping right out. She wants to scream, but she can’t get the sound out, she can’t make any sound except some kind of strangled whimper, and she can’t help but think about how _pathetic_ her own recorded voice sounds, how _needy— does she really sound like that?—_ and then she hears something, rustling, moving—

And then someone giggles.

 

 


	3. A Movie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eve has a ~~unexpected~~ ~~unwelcome~~ visitor.

* * *

“What… is _that?!”_

Eve’s tongue feels numb and unresponsive, and her heart is pounding so hard, she can’t even move off the bed, and she doesn’t want to, she _can’t,_ Oksana’s going to reach out and grab her foot and drag her under like some monster in a child’s nightmare—and then her phone lights up and Eve seizes it and—

 

 **;) (07:25)** You were masturbating one time when I came to visit.

 **;) (07:25)** It was cute.

 

Eve lets out a squeak of indignation, grabs at the nearest pillow, and presses it hard against her burning face. Maybe she can suffocate herself, maybe she’ll die of humiliation as red hot embarrassment swoops up from her chest and fills her lungs. A giggle comes again from underneath the bed, and Eve throws her phone across the room. It lands in the corner with a angry clatter.

“You _fucking—”_

 _“Shhhhh,_ too loud,” a voice whispers underneath Eve’s head, like some kind of pillow demon.

“You… you were in here—you freak, you fucking freak, and you _recorded—”_

“You stabbed me.”

“So did you!”

A shadow emerges in front of Eve’s eyes, and she clutches at the blankets, yanking them up to her chin, barely daring to glance at her unwelcome visitor. Oksana’s hair is down. She’s never seen her hair down before, not in real life.

It makes her look nice. Soft.

“I said _be quiet.”_

Eve lies there, petrified, staring at her, as if the assassin’s eyes, her face, her mouth are deadly weapons, pointed directly at her, ready to silence her at the slightest motion, the slightest noise.

“Why…”

Oksana raises one cold eyebrow, and Eve lifts her arm to point at her neck. She glances down at Eve’s shirt on her own body, then grins.

“I was curious. It _is_ a sweater, attached to a collar. It’s very silly. Very sly.”

Oksana hops onto the bed next to her. She’s wearing Eve’s top, her pants, her socks. They hang off of her like a tent. Her hair is still damp, and Eve winces as she shakes her head like a dog and water drops flick across her face. Her eyes dart towards the bathroom, where a wet towel is hanging over the shower door.

 _How on earth did I sleep through_ —

But Oksana’s hands are pulling away the sheets, lifting up the hem of her t-shirt, and Eve lets out a gasp.

“Oh, no, no, no,” Oksana whispers soothingly, pulling the thin fabric halfway up her ribcage and stopping. A fingertip reaches out and brushes lightly against the healing stab wound, tracing over the stiches. Eve hisses, more from the electric spark of her touch than any pain. Oksana gives her an unimpressed look.

“Really? When was the last time you had surgery, before this?”

“When I… I got my wisdom teeth out.”

“When was that?”

“When… when I was eighteen.”

Oksana snorts. Eve manages a frightened grumble and doesn’t answer.

“Poor baby,” Oksana murmurs, her lower lip pushed out into a sympathetic pout, then she bends and presses a soft kiss against the wound. Her forehead is pushing against the underside of Eve’s breast, and her hands are lightly gripping her waist, skin against skin. Eve’s breath hitches, and she can feel Oksana’s teeth as she smiles.

_Would you stay for a bit?_

_Sure._

_I really liked you._

“Go get me some food. I’m hungry.”

Eve’s eyes fly open. Oksana pulls away, flips her long hair away from her face, and stares down at her, her mouth pressed into an arrogant frown. Eve rubs her forehead with the back of her hand and sits up. Her legs are shaking.

“I… um, okay… what do you like to—”

“And don’t tell the guards. If you do, I will kill everyone here, and save you for last.”

* * *

 

Five additional guards arrive at 10 am. They introduce themselves to Eve, but seem generally disinterested. They take their places, wandering the parameter of the house. Oksana is watching them from the window as Eve emerges fully dressed from the bathroom, her hair still wet from her shower.

“Look at them, they are so bored.”

Oksana’s put on the television, some news station. It’s not loud, but it’s busy and distracting enough to cover the sound of their voices.

“It’s not a very interesting—”

“They’re here for you, too.”

Eve stops rubbing her hair with a towel.

“What?”

“They don’t trust you.”

“Why wouldn’t they trust me?”

Oksana doesn’t answer as she turns away from the window and makes her way across the room towards her.

“Sit.”

Eve plops down onto the edge of the bed, and Oksana takes the wet towel from her hands. Her loose hair falls forward and begins to drip freely down her shirt, down her back. She shivers, but doesn’t move. Oksana hangs the towel up in the bathroom, then comes back and sinks down onto the bed beside her. For a moment, she stares at the side of Eve’s face, and Eve stares at the open closet, not daring to move.

_God… what is even, what are we even..._

“Close your eyes.”

Oksana presses a light kiss against Eve’s cheek, then reaches behind her. Eve takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, waiting for the impact. She’s been stabbed before. She can do this. She can… she can do it again. She can survive.

A loud whirring sound makes her jump six inches off the mattress, and Oksana laughs. Eve sputters, but she feels the sudden rush hot air on her face and Oksana’s hands beginning to comb through her hair, and she understands.

“You _asshole.”_

“What? It is better than a towel. You need to take care of this amazing hair.”

Eve sits sullenly as Oksana runs the hairdryer over her hair, humming happily to herself as her fingers work the tangles out of the wet strands.

“Did your mother have hair like this?” Eve says abruptly, eyes still closed. Oksana doesn’t stop, but Eve can feel her disapproval as she shifts around to dry the other side of her head.

“No. She had thin, shitty hair. Yours is much nicer.”

“Did you just escape from prison?”

“Is this your normal color? Brown?”

Eve sighs as hot air blows in her face.

“No.”

“Oh?”

“It’s… naturally darker,” Eve says through her teeth. Oksana tsks.

“Are you afraid of your natural self, Eve?” Oksana’s voice is teasing directly in her ear. The hairdryer has moved away from her head and is now buzzing happily away on the bedspread.

“No. Are _you?”_ Eve says a little too forcefully. Oksana’s arms slide around her, one hand pressing against her thudding heart, the other dropping down to brush against her wound. Eve leans back slightly as Oksana lays her cheek against the top of her head. Her breasts are pressed against both sides of her head, her knees are deep in the mattress behind her back.

_“Eve Polastri.”_

Eve breathes in and out. Oksana breathes in and out with her.

“Your heart is racing.”

Her breathing is shallow now, and Eve can’t move, she doesn’t want to move, she doesn't want anything to change, she just wants to lean back against Oksana’s warm, solid body, her arms around her— and she’s sure that in another moment, Oksana is going to pull out a knife or a gun or a poisonous hairpin and murder her brilliantly and creatively, but right now, she just wants to be here, in this moment, breathing together, just the two of them...

 _Come with me_ — _just you and me. Please. Just you and me._

The hairdryer dies down to silence, leaving the room echoing with the peppy sound of some commercial for scrub brushes. Oksana presses a kiss onto the top of Eve’s head, then shifts away from her. Eve stares at the floor. She tries to fold her hands in her lap, but they’re shaking, like they had been after meeting Villanelle for the first time in that bathroom, and she’d stepped into a hospital room filled with blood and dead bodies…

“Hey.”

Her head jerks up. Oksana is standing in front of her, wrapping the hairdryer wire around the handle. She’s smiling down at her as she gestures towards the TV with her elbow.

“Put on a movie.”

* * *

 

They end up watching some strange romantic comedy drama Christmas thing. Eve thinks it’s stupid and that none of the characters act like anybody would in real life, but Oksana keeps giggling and nudging her and pointing at the screen, and it’s cute, and she’s a serial killer, so Eve keeps her snarky remarks to herself.  

The sun sets. The shadows moved slowly across the wall before disappearing altogether into darkness. During a commercial break, Oksana slides off the bed to plug the light back in, and Eve goes into the kitchen to warm up some random meal. The guards make small talk. Eve spins a story about feeling especially nauseated today. The guards make pitying comments. She’s better at pretending than she thought.

Oksana smirks when Eve returns with one tupperware of food and one fork.

At some point, Eve tries to take her pills, but Oksana takes them away. Eve gives an exasperated sigh and tries to grab them back, but Oksana holds them further away, giving her a stern look, as if Eve had been trying to sneak ice cream before dessert instead of trying to take her painkillers for a literal stab wound.

“You don’t need these anymore.”

“Stop that, I’m supposed to—”

“You don’t need them.”

Eve stares at her. Oksana stares back. Then Eve abruptly turns away and tosses the empty tupperware onto the nightstand. She feels angry. She doesn’t like feeling angry.

“Okay. Fine. Are we gonna talk about this?”

Oksana tosses the bottle of pills down onto the floor and makes herself comfortable on the bed.

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe not. Talking... it didn’t go so well, last time.”

“Why are you _here?”_

Oksana opens her eyes wide, as if Eve had said something offensive, then she points the remote and turns up the sound on the TV. The movie’s come back on. The guy is running down the street, chasing down the girl as she drives away. It’s snowing. She stops the car.

“Look at that. It’s so easy.”

Eve waves her hand in front of Oksana’s eyes.

“I’m over here, asshole.”

“Okay, but you are missing some _really_ awkward kissing over here, ugh, wow, he’s really sucking her face off—”

Eve kisses her.

Somewhere in the back of her head, she convinces herself that it’s to shut her up.

But she remembers that kiss, before a knife pushed through her shirt, through her skin, and twisted around her intestines. And she wishes to God that she had a knife right now, so she could repay the favor… Oksana moans, almost too enthusiastically to be real, but it nearly sends her into a frenzy, and her hands are fumbling with Oksana’s shirt, her palm splays across a smooth ribcage, and she moves down and finds what she’s looking for, the scar, the indent.

_“Eve…”_

Oksana’s hands are in her hair now, pulling her close, keeping her locked in, and Eve is straddling her, pushing her into the pillows, into the mess of sheets and blankets, and they’re doing this, they’re doing it, it’s going to happen, _it’s going to happen, dammit,_ and Oksana is mumbling something against her lips, but Eve won’t let her up, she won’t let her up if it’s the last thing she does, she won’t let her up, she’ll keep her here for eternity if she has to, the killer captured at last—

“Thhhg iiigg uuugggg.”

Eve pulls away, gasping for breath. Oksana’s—Eve’s—shirt is pulled up to her neck, and Eve forces herself to not stare at her breasts.

“The _what?”_ she says breathlessly, pushing her hair back as she bends down over Oksana’s flushed face.

“I said, ‘This is awkward,’” the younger woman mumbles, shifting a little.

“Oh, shit, _shit,_ am I hurting you?”

But Oksana is smiling almost lazily, a glimmer of irony in her bright eyes, and it’s wrong, she’s supposed to be happy, she’s supposed to be stunned, she’s supposed to repent her sins and promise to not murder anymore...

And then Eve sees the gun in her hand, and she groans. It’s almost… it almost feels cliche now, at this point.

“Fuck, can we _not,_ just _once,_ can we not do this fucking killing each other thing?!” Eve says loudly, anger boiling up to the surface once more. But Oksana makes a face, and Eve realizes that she’s not pointing the gun at her.

“I’m sorry, could you just…” Oksana reaches up and moves Eve’s head four inches to the left, then she raises the gun, pointing towards the air behind her. Eve freezes, realizing that she’s still straddling the assassin, knees on either side of her hips, one hand still buried deep in silky honey-gold hair.

But Oksana is smiling a cold, amused smile, and Eve takes a deep breath and forces herself to twist around and look across the room at Carolyn Martens’ horrified face.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~Too bad Kenny wasn't here to tell Carolyn to knock first, oops~~ Thanks so much for reading! Sorry this chapter got a little longer than the others, but I'm just having so much fun with these two! :)


	4. Stone-Cold Badass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carolyn walks in on Eve and Oksana in an awkward position. Things... escalate.

* * *

_“Eve!”_

Carolyn sounds scandalized.

_Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, SHIT..._

Eve can’t move. She’s paralyzed, panicking, completely humiliated, and she can’t move.

And she _really_ should.

She doesn’t work for MI5, or anyone anymore, but she is pretty much straddling a half-naked assassin who’s just escaped from prison, as well as harboring a wanted fugitive in a literal government safe house, which is probably… illegal. Frowned upon? No, definitely illegal. Maybe even treason.

“Car… Carolyn, I can-”

_“Shh!”_

Oksana uses her free hand to pull Eve’s head back around, so that she’s staring into feral, catlike eyes instead of the horrifying sight of  _Carolyn fucking Martens’_ shocked expression. Oksana doesn’t move as she stares down the barrel of the gun. Eve closes her eyes. She really should move out of this position. But she can’t.

“It’s good to see you again.” Oksana's voice is nearly as cold and bored as her expression.

“Have you been sent to kill me?”

Carolyn’s tone is clipped. Professional. Emotionless. Flawless.

Oksana simply raises an eyebrow. The gun remains pointed directly at Carolyn's head. She doesn’t answer.

“Right.”

The room is filled once more with the sound of the movie on the TV. The credits are rolling. Some terrible Christmas song remix is playing.

“Right, I’ll just be in the kitchen when you’re ready-”

_“Don’t_ move.”

Oksana’s voice is steel now, all business, all assassin. Eve wishes she could turn around, see what’s happening, but she doesn’t dare, and for a moment, she thinks Carolyn is already dead, that Oksana has shot lasers out of her eyes or something, and now Carolyn’s frozen in place, standing upright, jaw set, heart stopped-

“What are your terms, Villanelle?”

Oksana shifts, just slightly. Then she pulls her right hand from the tangle of Eve’s hair and fumbles for the remote. She flicks off the TV, plunging the room into silence. And for a moment they remain still, listening to each other breathe, counting heartbeats.

“Is he dead?”

“No.”

“He needs to be dead.”

“That can be arranged.”

The silence stretches.

“Did you have sex with him?”

“Yes.”

Oksana laughs.

It’s a strange, high-pitched, lilting sound that doesn’t match her at all.

She shifts again, grinning, and tosses the remote to the floor. Her arm remains slack for a moment, then it rises lazily and tucks a strand of Eve’s hair behind her ear. The gesture is so soft, so tender, Eve almost leans into that calloused hand... and then she freezes, hating herself. Oksana's eyes are gleaming, missing nothing.

“Eve is going to get up now and take your phone out of your coat pocket. _You_ are not going to move.”

Eve is trembling. An unspoken plea wells up in her throat, but she can't seem to get it past her lips. A tear slips down her cheek and splashes onto Oksana’s bare skin.

“Go on, baby.”

She closes her eyes. Takes a deep breath.

And then she forces herself to get up.

Carolyn doesn’t look at her as she stumbles across the room. Her hands remain up, shoulder-height, her face calm and deadly. Eve slips her hand into her coat pocket. Tissues. Candy wrappers. Keys. Eve winces and pulls out her hand.

“It’s… it’s the other...” she mumbles, but Oksana just raises her eyebrow again and Eve moves around to Carolyn’s other side. A mess of receipts, a pack of cigarettes, and a lighter.

“I thought you didn’t smoke,” Eve mutters accusingly, almost more to herself than to the statue in front of her. Her fingers finally close around the slim cell phone. Carolyn’s stare remains fixed, straight ahead.

“I’ve started,” she deadpans. Eve snorts.

“We don’t have all day, Eve, darling,” Oksana says casually, lowering the gun to rest her arm on her knee, but keeping it aimed directly at Carolyn’s head. Eve shuffles back over to her, holding out the phone.

“Ask her the pin.”

Carolyn’s pin isn’t 1-2-3-4. Oksana smirks as Eve’s shaking hands unlock the phone, but she doesn’t comment.

“Send a message to Konstantin Vasiliev.”

Eve dares a glance at Carolyn’s face, but the MI6 director’s expression betrays nothing.

“Um. Okay. What did you want me to-”

“Nothing. Just a face. A smiling face. And a heart. For good luck.”

Eve does so and the message sends with a whoosh. Oksana grins and swings her legs over the side of the bed.

“Thank you, Eve.”

She slips the phone from Eve’s fingers, then turns her around. They're both facing Carolyn now. It feels wrong. But it feels... right.

“Villanelle, please listen to me,” the older woman begins. "I can-”

_“Quiet.”_

Oksana’s hands settle on Eve’s shoulders, then she lifts Eve’s trembling right hand in her own and presses the gun into it.

“Now… _Eve,”_ Oksana murmurs, giving her a sly, sideways smile. “I am going to teach you how to shoot. Properly.”

Eve stares at her, horror completely flooding her nerves for the second time that day.

_No. No, no, no, no, this is worse, this is so much worse..._

“Please…”

“Your right hand goes here, left hand wraps around here… don’t squeeze so hard, relax.” Oksana stays pressed up behind her, both hands raising her arms so then the gun is pointed at Carolyn’s still figure.

“Keep both eyes open. Now look between the sights. When you’re shooting a moving target, you won’t have time. You’ll have to focus on the target and shoot. But _this_ one is nice and still, so you can practice your aim... _yes,_ right there.”

Oksana’s hands move Eve’s just slightly, aiming the gun directly at Carolyn’s heart.

“Carolyn…” Eve chokes out, but she bites her lip, unable to continue, unable to think. It’s all she can do to try and stop herself from shaking. Oksana will get angry if she's too frightened, and she can’t let that happen. She can’t.

“It’s all right, Eve.” Carolyn is looking at her now, and her blank expression has softened slightly for the first time. “It’s going to be all right.”

_I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t…_

“Finger on the trigger,” Oksana urges, her voice in her ear. She’s lowered her arms, leaving Eve to hold the gun up on her own, leaving Eve to make the shot completely on her own.

“Oksana, _please._ It doesn’t have to be like this.”

“Shoot.” A touch of coldness has crept back into the assassin’s voice. A strong arm slides around Eve’s middle, and a hand presses directly against the healing stab wound. _“Shoot.”_

Eve closes her eyes and forces herself to breathe. She can feel Oksana’s chin on her shoulder, her breath tickling her neck, her warm, sturdy body against her back...

It’s nice.

Eve leans back, letting herself soak in Oksana's embrace, letting herself enjoy how _well_ they fit together like this, how right it feels, and Oksana's arms tighten around her, holding her close...

_I really liked you._

And then Eve opens her eyes, stares down at barrel, takes a deep breath, and fires.


	5. Cry Baby Cry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Carolyn's shooting.

* * *

 

The gun fires and Carolyn falls back, crumpling to the floor with a thud. Eve screams, but Oksana twists the gun from her hands, snatches Eve’s phone from the nightstand, and sprints across the room in an instant.

“Fuck, _fuck_ —Oksana, don’t leave, don’t—”

But the assassin bends down over the MI6 director’s body, smiles a wide, evil smile, then straightens and disappears into the dark hall.

 _“Carolyn,_ oh, God, please.. _.”_

Eve throws herself down onto the carpet next to her, hands tearing blindly at the woman’s coat.

“That won’t be necessary,” Carolyn mutters, opening her eyes and pressing her hand gingerly over her heart. Eve stares.

“You’re not—not hurt, you’re not bleeding.”

“Of course not.”

“...how—”

“I work for MI6.”

Eve stares at her.

“I never leave the house without a bulletproof—”

“Oh, you’re fucking _kidding_ me.”

Carolyn sits up and rubs the back of her head, wincing. Evepulls a frustrated hand through her hair, trying to keep her heart from pounding out of her chest. The shock is beginning to abate, but the anger is coming back, choking, pulling, constricting her nerves, blurring her vision.

“You look rather disappointed,” Carolyn says, tilting her head slightly to look at her. Eve splutters.

“Well, I’m… I mean, _Jesus,_ did _she_ know? That you were wearing this… this...”

“Oh, undoubtedly. I’m surprised you didn’t. Didn’t you study criminal justice?”

“Criminal _psychology.”_

Carolyn shrugs and pulls herself up onto her knees, grimacing.

“Wait.” Eve leans back on her heels, putting up her hands. “Just—wait. Are you _fucking kidding me?!”_

Carolyn rises and immediately collapses into the chair in the corner. Her hand goes to her pocket, and promptly pulls out the pack of cigarettes and the lighter.

“Jesus _Christ.”_ Eve explodes, spinning around and stomping back to the bed. She sits heavily, arms crossed, and glares as Carolyn calmly lights her cigarette and begins to smoke. “I can’t, I can’t fucking—I mean, were you even in danger? Did you think for a _moment_ that you were even—”

“She didn’t shoot when I appeared. Everything from there was a matter of navigation. She’s been very specific about her kills.”

 _“Specific?_ What about _Bill?_ How—how is it that you’re still here, _you,_ when Bill, a nobody, is out there, lying in a fucking box?!”

Carolyn blows out a thick cloud of smoke.

“Eve, I honestly cannot tell if you’re relieved or angry that I’m not dead.”

“Oh, I’m relieved! I’m _fucking_ relieved!” Eve shouts, not even bothering to moderate her tone. “But you’re sitting here, telling me you were playing, you were both playing, you both knew there was no danger, and you _made_ me shoot you—”

“No one made you shoot me, Eve,” Carolyn says conversationally. _“No one_ made you.”

“She… she…”

“She _what?”_

“I don’t know, I don’t know, I just…” Eve shakes her head and gives up. The room rings with silence. In another life, Eve would flop over backwards and utter those damning words… _God, I’m tired,_ but this is not a lovesick assassin she’s facing, this is a stone-cold badass who likely feels nothing but suppressed rage at her in this very moment.

Carolyn rises, strolls past Eve’s stuttering figure, and seizes her old phone from the corner of the room, punching in the code without asking.

“For someone who is such a quick thinker, you are remarkably unpre…”

Eve closes her eyes, waiting for Carolyn to finish her sentence.

“I’m—I’m sorry, I’m remarkably un—?”

“You’ve been in contact with her?”

Carolyn looks up, and her eyes are gleaming, almost as if in admiration. The string of angry text messages with Oksana are displayed on the glowing screen. Eve opens her mouth, and then closes it and groans. She’s fucked. She’s absolutely, completely fucked, she’s going to go to prison. Carolyn stands in silence behind her for a long moment, then out of nowhere, she puts a hand on Eve’s shoulder, making her jump six inches off the bed.

“Come out into the kitchen. The guards said there’s some leftover cake.” 

 

* * *

 

Carolyn doesn’t eat anything. She pours herself a cup of tea and nurses it in silence while Eve tries to eat a horribly sweet slice of chocolate cake as inconspicuously as possible. She manages to get half of the slice down before she can’t stand it anymore, and she shuffles to her feet to get herself a glass of milk from the fridge. Carolyn doesn’t move.

“I first met Konstantin after he made a series of kills outside of Moscow. We didn’t know if he was working for the government or a private company, or both. We chased each other across fifteen countries, and every time we found ourselves face to face, we tricked ourselves and each other into believing that none of it mattered, that two people could simply exist, alone in the world.”

Carolyn’s voice trails off, and Eve realizes she’s frozen, milk carton in midair. She puts it down onto the counter as quietly as possible.

“Did... you ever stab him?”

Carolyn laughs. It’s a cold, humorless sound.

“No.”

Eve waits for her to go on, but she only picks up her cup of tea again and takes a sip. Eve turns back to the fridge and sets the carton of milk on the top shelf. And then she closes the door and stares at the dark handle.

“Did… did the two of you…?”

Carolyn looks across the shadowed kitchen at her, eyebrows raised.

“Did we what?”

It’s a question, but the way she says it makes it sound more like a statement, more like a challenge. Eve bites her lip, fighting back a smile, and stares at the linoleum floor. Carolyn turns away and takes another sip of tea, apparently having moved on.

But the cup is rattling as she sets it onto the table.

 

* * *

 

 _Let me make it very clear what will happen next. You are leaving this house. You still be stripped of all protective measures provided by the government. And you will either return to your home, find employment elsewhere, and ensure that I never hear about you again, or you can walk out in handcuffs and stand trial for what you have done. I hate for it to end like this, Eve. But we can’t protect you when you clearly don’t want to be protected… you’re on your own._  

 

* * *

 

The house is quiet, dark, and covered in a layer of dust.

Niko had taken his books, his papers, his little knick-knacks, his favorite cup. A fat envelope with her name written in his handwriting is propped up against a vase of dead flowers, but she can’t bring herself to read it, not now.

It feels safe, familiar, warm. So many memories in this house, this home, in these rooms… and then there’s the memory of a slim woman sitting there, at the head of the kitchen table, eating microwaved shepherd's pie, smiling one second, crying the next…

_It’s so nice to finally meet you._

Eve drops her bags onto the floor with a sigh and goes up to take a shower. She doesn’t bother to lock the door.

 

* * *

 

Oksana doesn’t appear while she’s in the shower. She doesn’t appear as Eve opens and proceeds to drink an entire of bottle of wine. She doesn’t appear as Eve paces back and forth across her bedroom floor, the bedroom where she’d once slipped on the most beautiful dress she’d ever seen and stared at her reflection in the mirror. She doesn’t appear as Eve throws the empty wine bottle over the balcony, letting it smash across the entryway floor.

Eve trudges back into her room and crawls across her bed, and in another moment, she’s sobbing her eyes out into a mess of pillows, almost wishing that she’d thrown herself over the railing too, so then she could fracture and crack and spill across the dark tiles.

_What do you want? Honestly, don’t be a dick._

_You know what I want._

_If I knew what you wanted, I wouldn’t have to ask, you asshole—_

_You. I want you. I want you. You don’t know that? I’ve always wanted you, from the first time I saw you in that bathroom, and you made me forget how to breathe. I’ve wanted you since I found out you were looking for me, I’ve wanted you since the moment you stopped the car and stepped out into the road like some crazy person… I’ve wanted you to find me, I’ve wanted to talk to you, I’ve wanted you, I’ve waited for you…_

_Jesus..._

_What about you? Tell me._

_I can’t._

_Yes you can. Yes, you can._

_...I think about you all the time. I think about you when I wake up, and when I go to sleep, and when I’m in the shower, and when I’m in bed, and when I eat dinner, and I imagine what you’re doing, whether you’re in prison, or in a beautiful hotel room somewhere, or shopping for clothes, or eating ice cream… I imagine that you’re with me, and you’re happy, and none of this ever happened, that you’re just some person I met in a bathroom, and you never killed my best friend, and you’re coming home tonight and we’ll tell each other about our days, and sometimes, I think it could actually happen, that we could actually make something for ourselves, somewhere, in some country, and then I remember that you’re a serial killer and that I stabbed you, and that I hate you more than I ever thought I could hate someone. I hate you so much, Oksana, and I will kill you and make you pay for everything you’ve done if it’s the last thing I do—no, I mean it, don’t laugh—I’m going to kill you, I have to kill you, I have to, don’t look at me like that, Oksana..._

Eve seizes one of the pillows and squeezes it as tightly as she can, imagining it’s Oksana’s body, and she’s choking her, suffocating her, killing her, and the light’s going out in her eyes, and a ghost of a smile is frozen on her lips, and then when her body is still and lifeless, she’ll drag her down to the kitchen, chop her up, boil her down, but she can’t, she can’t, all she can do is kneel beside her body as it sprawls, limp and graceless across the kitchen floor, blood spilling out from the gaping wound in her stomach, eyes wide and disbelieving, betrayed—

_I really liked you._

And Eve is crying and she can’t stop and it’s not funny anymore, but she can’t, she can’t kill her, and she’s never wanted anything more in her life than to kill her, to strangle her with her bare hands, but she’s staring at her, and she’s whimpering in pain, and it’s so innocent, and so heartbreaking, and so _human—_

_Dammit, Oksana, don’t die, don’t die, don’t die, I’ve got you. I’ve got you. Stay right there, you won’t die. You won’t die, you won’t, you can’t, you can’t, dammit…_

“It’s okay.”

Cold fingers brush the hair away from her wet face, and strong arms wearing Eve’s pajamas slide around her middle, pulling her back into a warm, flannel embrace. Eve presses her face deeper into the pillow. Maybe she can suffocate herself, maybe they can both die like this, breathless, helpless, together—

_We tricked ourselves and each other into believing that none of it mattered, that two people could simply exist, alone in the world._

“I _hate_ you.”

“I know.”

Maybe she’s just coming back from killing Konstantin. Maybe she’s just coming back from killing them all: Carolyn, Kenny, Elena, Niko, the Prime Minister, the Queen…

_I just… wanna know everything._

Eve wipes her eyes on the pillowcase and tries to turn around, but Oksana’s hand reaches up, stopping her, keeping her from seeing her eyes, and her mouth, and her hair. But her voice is in her ear, whispering, shushing, and the room is dark, and she’s on the bed she used to share with her husband, and Oksana is there, and she’s alive, and holding her, and everything is going to be okay.

“It shouldn’t be like this.”

“What?”

“Just… just don’t leave.”

“...okay.”

Her voice is barely a murmur. A tired, sleepy murmur. But her heart is pounding so loudly, Eve can almost hear it.

"Are you going to kill me?”

Oksana’s hands are clasped over Eve’s throbbing stab wound.

She doesn’t answer.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! (I'm sorry that was kind of a cop-out? But you know Carolyn's been through worse and made it out alive!!)
> 
> Also, this is the last chapter for a bit! If I'm inspired to continue, I'll definitely pick it up again, ~~but I'm feeling really guilty about neglecting my other fics so far this summer oops~~ but right now I don't have a big plot in mind for this fic... I've absolutely loved writing these characters, though, and I promise to write more if the inspiration hits!! :D


	6. When A Woman is Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some domestic Villaneve fluff the morning after Eve returns to her own house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~Oops my hand slipped~~

 

“How do you like your eggs?”

That entire bottle of wine last night was a mistake.

Eve stumbles into the kitchen, groaning, and makes a beeline for the medicine cabinet, barely comprehending Oksana’s cheeky question until the woman is standing behind her, seizing the bottle of aspirin down from the shelf and handing it to her.

“Um.” Eve stares down at the frying pan and the brown sausages sizzling inside. “Whatever. Over easy.”

She tears her eyes away and leans over the counter. The glass in her hand overflows before she realizes what she’s doing, and she fumbles blindly with the sink handles like she’s never seen them before.

_Jesus._

Eve throws back her head, downing two pills with a glass of water and moans as her stomach gurgles unhappily. The sound of eggs cracking sears into her head, and she closes her eyes.

“Those eggs… you didn’t get them from the chicken, did you?”

Oksana’s breath is on her cheek as she leans over her to toss the eggshells into the sink.

“What chicken?”

“There’s a chicken.”

Oksana gives a little laugh, and a puff of warm air that smells like sausage tickles Eve’s face.

“Yes, I’m pretty sure these eggs are from a chicken, Eve. Where do you get _your_ eggs?”

“Fuck you,” Eve mutters, and greasy lips press against the corner of her mouth, then the sound of Oksana humming happily fades as she pulls away, and the sausages sizzle loudly as she pushes them over.

Eve rubs her aching forehead. Her entire body feels bruised, sore.

“What _happened_ last night?”

“You got your bed _very_ wet.”

Eve almost falls over.

“You- fuck, we didn’t, you didn’t… I was drunk, dammit, did you fucking...?”

“You do not make good decisions when you drink,” Oksana says casually, setting a plate with scrambled eggs and a fat sausage in front of her. Eve stares, feeling that familiar nausea rising up in her stomach.

“This isn’t what I ordered.”

Oksana spears a piece of egg and waves it around in front of her face, nearly shoving it up her nose.

“Why are you so mean? I make you a very nice breakfast, and you sit here with your bad breath and complain.”

Oksana’s breasts are pressed against her back, and a strong arm slips around her waist. Eve swallows hard, trying to ignore the chill rushing through her at the woman’s touch (terror? arousal? hangover?) and eyes the fork warily… a girl who’s strong enough to pierce through a man’s eye with a hairpin certainly wouldn’t have any qualms about poking her in the eye with a fork… and then Eve starts to laugh, sending bits of chewed scrambled egg everywhere.

“What is wrong with you?”

“I was thinking… I was thinking if you killed me here, how funny it would be. Wouldn’t it be funny? ‘Woman killed in kitchen with own breakfast.’ Because you kill people in their element, right? Like when you killed the mafia boss at his own anniversary party in his Italian villa, or the colonel at the kink clinic. You kill me with a fucking scrambled egg in my own house.”

“I wouldn’t kill you with a _fucking scrambled egg,”_ Oksana says, sounding almost offended, although her voice deepens humorously as she mimics Eve’s accent.

Eve stabs the sausage and bites off the end. Oksana hadn’t given her a knife.

“How would you kill me, then?”

“Naked. In bed. Mid orgasm. The best orgasm of your life.”

“That’s not funny.”

“It’s you in your _element,_ Eve,” Oksana says, taking the half eaten sausage from Eve’s frozen hand and helping herself with a loud, crunchy bite. “It’s very funny.”

* * *

Oksana apparently went grocery shopping. The fridge, nearly empty last night, is full of food, and bottles of expensive Italian wine are arranged on the counter. After Eve takes a long, hot shower, she comes down to the kitchen to find Oksana buried in a Betty Crocker cookbook that’s probably twice as old as she is.

“What’re you doing?”

“Look at these pictures. This food does not look appetizing,” Oksana says, flipping a page in mock disgust.

“Well, it’s old. Use your imagination,” Eve says, rubbing her hair down in a towel with one hand and picking up one of the bottles of wine with the other. Oksana comes around and snatches it out of her hand.

“No looking. It’s a surprise.”

“A surprise?” Eve says stupidly, staring at the suddenly close face of the young assassin. “I don’t like surprises.”

Oksana slides her arms over Eve’s shoulders, pulling her forward. The wet towel falls to the floor.

 _“You_ were a surprise.”

Oksana’s eyes are warm, teasing, and yet...

_She had a lost look in her eyes that was both direct and also chilling. She's totally focused and yet almost entirely inaccessible._

“How many times do I have to tell you?”

Her voice is low, tinged with mock disappointment, barely a whisper. Eve’s heart is hammering. She can hear her phone buzzing in the next room, but she can’t move, she can’t breathe.

“...what?”

_I have to kill you._

“No towels,” Oksana says brightly, making Eve jump from the sheer cheerfulness of it. “Use the dryer. You need to take care of this amazing hair.”

She pulls away, snatching the towel up off the floor and hanging it up where, once, Eve had pulled down a sweater/shirt and a pair of pants, and an assassin had stripped her down to her skin and complimented her nice body.

Eve’s phone goes off again and Oksana waves a hanger grandly, as if suddenly remembering something.

“Oh! Your husband stopped by while you were in the shower. He will be back for dinner.”

Eve freezes.

_“What?!”_

“He has removed his mustache. But he looks even more like a pedophile now, somehow. It’s very strange.”

_“He WHAT?!”_

“He was so angry at first. He accused me of breaking into his house. It was very funny. I had to make him be quiet for a bit while I explained to him what was happening. And then he was very understanding after that. And he brought food! That was nice.”

“Oksana… Oksana, I swear, Jesus, if you hurt him-” Eve starts, advancing across the kitchen floor towards the grinning woman.

“I did no such thing. You will see for yourself, when he comes back.”

“He’ll go to the police, he’ll send them here to arrest you-”

“No, he won’t,” Oksana says nonchalantly, opening a cupboard and lifting down a bag of flour.

“Yes, he _will.”_

 _“No, he_ _won’t,”_ Oksana repeats, mimicking Eve’s voice again. “I told him I would kill you instantly if anything suspicious happened.”

Eve takes a step back. Oksana is fussing over the mixing bowl and set of measuring cups that she’s put onto the counter.

“You wouldn’t.”

_I’m really sorry._

Oksana crosses her arms and leans across the counter towards her, head tilted slightly, a hint of wicked smile curling her lips.

“Eve?”

_Oksana, please..._

"Hand me that pepper."

Eve stares down at bowl of produce in front of her on island, then heaves a sigh and throws the pepper a little harder than necessary.

"What the hell are you  _making?"_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Current Mood:** When you're so desperate for MORE MORE MORE Killing Eve fanfic that you keep writing your own even though you said you wouldn't.
> 
> Also, thanks for reading!! :)
> 
> Also, you're welcome for no godawful cliffhanger this time!! :P


	7. Fix You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eve and Niko yell at each other. Oksana gives Eve a gift.

“Niko?”

“Eve, Jesus, are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m… I’m fine.”

“That woman…”

Eve glances through the doorway into the kitchen, where said woman is cutting a slab of beef into tiny cubes with an enormous knife. Her stomach flip-flops as blood leaks out over the cutting board, and she shakes herself as Nico repeats his question.

“Wait, wait, what- sorry, I… what did you say?”

“I said, _are you drunk?”_ Nico sounds angry. He never used to be angry. He would always speak softly, conceal his feelings with that light, guarded, passive-aggressive tone, the one that drove Eve crazy, because there were _many_ things she couldn’t do, and reading her husband’s mind was one of them.

“I drank a bottle of wine last night, it’s no big-”

“A bottle of wine.”

“Jesus, Nico, I could cut that disapproval with a, a scissor-” Eve stutters, not wanting to mention knives with Oksana within hearing range.

“So. You’re a drunk now. That’s good to know.” That _tone_ again. She can almost see that arrogant, raised eyebrow, and his mustache twitching- but _wait..._

“Well- well, _you_ shaved your fucking mustache!” Eve retorts, and Oksana looks up from the kitchen, her hands covered with cow’s blood. She smiles a wide, knowing smile, and Eve backs away.

“My looks have absolutely nothing to do with this,” Niko snaps. “I mean, I don’t think you even understand the scale of what you have done-”

“Don’t you fucking talk to me like that, you have no idea what I- I have been through hell and back, and you’ve done nothing but ignore my calls, ignore my texts, leave me hanging-”

“YOU’RE the one who left, Eve!” Niko shouts, and Eve holds the phone away from her ear. “You know what, I’m not doing this. I’m done. I’m glad you’re not hurt. I’ll see you tonight at _dinner._ And if that little psycho girlfriend of yours tries to poison me, I’m going to kill her. And then I’ll grind her up and boil her down and flush her down the toilet, and I’ll make _you_ watch. Would you like that?”

“Niko…”

But he’s already hung up, and the call-ended tone is beeping in Eve’s ear.

 

* * *

 

“Put this on.”

Eve is sitting on her bed. Oksana’s dinner, whatever the hell she ended up preparing, is cooking in the oven downstairs, and it smells amazing. It smells like good food, cooking.

It smells like Niko.

Eve quickly brushes her hand over her face and turns to look at her unwelcome visitor. Oksana is standing in the doorway, holding out a bag that looks like it was from some expensive designer shop. Eve stares at her, hating her, remembering that moment of terror when she opened her suitcase on this very bed, remembering that moment of shock when she put that black and white dress on for the first time and stared at her reflection in the mirror…

 _“Here.”_ Oksana thrusts the bag into her hands, apparently tired of Eve’s lack of reaction, and Eve pulls the silky folds from the bag’s depths without a word.

It’s a dress, and it’s blue, the same blue as the sweater Eve had been wearing that one time in Paris when she… Eve chases the thought away and holds the dress up to take in its slinky, elegant layers. Oksana comes up behind her and takes it from her hands, unzipping the back. Eve wavers for a moment, but there’s nothing here that Oksana hasn't already seen, so she roughly pulls her shirt over her head and pushes down her pants, hating this, and hating the way her heart begins to pound as Oksana slides the dress down over her head, following its hem until she’s kneeling down to the floor. She lingers for a moment at Eve’s feet, pulling it evenly around her ankles, eyes fixed on Eve’s face as she untangles her hair from the straps.

“It’s too fancy for dinner, I’ll be overdressed,” Eve mutters, smoothing her hands down her sides, fingering the expensive fabric.

“It will be fine,” Oksana whispers, rising and taking her hands. Eve sighs and makes a face at her, but Oksana leans forward and presses a soft kiss to her lips. “You’re perfect.”

Eve kisses her back and convinces herself that it’s only because she’s afraid for her life.

But she knows it’s not true.

_Can’t it always be like this? Just… us. Just you and me. Living. Existing. Together. Completely alone in the world._

“Stop thinking,” Oksana mumbles against her lips, and a pathetic little whimper escapes from Eve’s mouth. Oksana’s hand moves around the back of her neck, sweeping her hair over one shoulder, and then her mouth is there, on her neck, searching for- and finding- that _spot_ that makes her go weak in the knees, and then a strong arm is wrapping around her waist, supporting her, a hand splayed across the small of her back, holding her close, and all Eve can do is stand there, eyes closed, mouth open, with this ridiculously expensive blue dress hugging her nice body, and this ridiculously dangerous assassin worshipping her like she hasn’t been worshipped since the late 90s, and Oksana’s still fully dressed, and it’s not _fair,_ but she’s wearing her perfume, and it smells fresh and familiar and _frustrating,_ and Eve doesn’t know what she wants, but she _does_ know what she wants, but she _can’t-_

Oksana pulls back, hands reaching up to cup Eve’s cheeks.

“I said, _stop thinking,”_ she snaps, but her eyes are dancing, and Eve is breathless, and unraveled, and all she can do is stare stupidly at Oksana’s irritated, teasing face, because her mind won’t stop racing around and around in muddled, senseless circles.

“How do we turn this off?” Oksana asks, turning Eve’s head slightly from side to side. And Eve takes a deep breath, realizing that she’s going to have to speak words that make sense because apparently, Oksana’s done with the whole kissing thing.

“Alcohol,” she says, and even she’s surprised at how grave her voice sounds. Oksana frowns.

“No. You get all sloppy and silly when you drink.”

Eve scoffs, but she knows it’s true. Oksana’s still rocking her head from shoulder to shoulder, her face taken on a comical expression of concentration.

“Ah. I know how.” Oksana leans forward until their noses are touching, and her perfume is all but enveloping Eve’s face, her soul, her entire being, and those unblinking eyes are taking up 95% of her visual field-

“Does it involve killing someone? Specifically, me?” Eve says drily, barely knowing what she’s saying. Damn those catlike eyes.

“No. But it involves someone being naked. Specifically, _me.”_ And Oksana smirks as Eve’s cheeks turn bright red, as her heart skips a beat, as she jumps three inches off the ground at the sound of the doorbell echoing downstairs.

_“Jesus.”_

“No, I think that’s your husband.”

Eve groans. Leave it to Niko to suddenly arrive at the precise moment her mind is being assailed with images a naked assassin. Oksana presses a light kiss to her nose.

“You look very nice… besides, I told your husband to rent a tux.”

And with that, the doorbell rings again, and Oksana grins, then sweeps out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!!! :)
> 
> Also, I cannot for the life of me spell Niko's name right.
> 
>  
> 
> ~~We STILL don't know what the hell is for dinner~~


	8. Dinnertime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Niko arrives. Dinner is served.

Niko _is_ wearing a tux. Eve doesn’t think she’s seen him in a tux since their wedding.

He actually hurries forward when he sees her coming down the stairs, shouts her name, wraps his arms around her.

_Are you all right?_

As if their phone call never happened. As if the last several months never happened.

Niko, always eager to forgive, to make things right, to pretend that nothing is wrong.

“I’m fine.”

But she's not fine.

* * *

Oksana seats herself at the head of the table, and instructs Niko to sit at the other end. Eve is seated between them.

The symbolism is lost on none of them.

But the dinner of shepherd’s pie and roasted vegetables and the best wine Eve has ever tasted is not all bad. The pie crust is flakey, the beef is tender, and the gravy is thick and rich and delicious. And the roasted vegetables are perfectly cooked- _What did you put with these zucchini?_ Niko asks, and Oksana answers smugly, _Just_ _oil, garlic, salt._ Niko is impressed. Eve would be, too, if the food didn’t keep sticking in her throat.

She barely speaks, but Niko and Oksana chitchat about countries in Europe, and it’s absolutely bizarre. She keeps darting glances in Oksana’s direction, as if to ask, _why are you doing this?_ But the assassin only smiles openly at her and sips at the amazing wine.

Eve has never seen her acting so… _normal._ She’s charming, interested, and gracious, and all without being too indulgent, without seeming like she’s laying on the flattery. Niko almost seems comfortable, as if he and Eve had simply been hosting a dinner party for three, and Oksana is an old friend. He’s pretending, putting on a brave face, but he’s trying, and Eve almost admires him for it, despite its stupidity. But she’s one to talk.

“I can’t believe you managed to get into the house. This woman- Dr. Martens, she said her name was, told me it wasn’t safe, to stay away,” Niko is saying, playing his own little version of detective, a little tit for tat. _Let me tell you something, and then you tell me something._ “Wouldn’t even let me in to get my clothes.”

“Doc Martens?” Oksana says with a smirk, turning her head to look at Eve, as if they were sharing a private joke. “I’ve never heard anyone call her that.”

Niko gives a little hum of assent, and she takes another sip of wine. Eve refuses to look at her.

“We know her. Eve actually shot her yesterday.”

Niko’s fork clatters to the floor, a piece of roasted zucchini still pierced by its prongs. He stares at Eve from across the table, mouth open, and Eve shoots a defiant glare at Oksana. She raises her eyebrows, but her smile is warm, amused- proud, almost.

“You _what?!”_ Niko sounds outraged. But his voice is trembling, as if he’s frightened. Of her. Eve’s stomach flip-flops, and she doesn’t know if it’s from terror or satisfaction.

“Right in the heart. Excellent aim,” Oksana says, stuffing an especially large piece of shepherd's pie into her mouth.

“She was wearing a vest, she survived, she wasn’t even hurt,” Eve snaps under her breath, staring into her plate. She’s barely eaten anything, but she snatches up her fork and goes for a mushroom soaked in brown sauce.

Frank.

Stupid Frank and his stupid brown sauce.

Eve fights back a sudden rush of laughter and has to put her fork down without eating the mushroom. Her shoulders are shaking with suppressed laughter, manic laughter, hysterical laughter. Jesus, she’s losing it.

_When will this be over, Oksana? When will you be done torturing me? Because I'll sorry, I’m sorry for whatever it is, all of it, that you’re punishing me for. Just make it stop, send him away, kill him, and then we can go back upstairs and you can kill me properly like a goddamn assassin, none of this fake, mind-control shit you keep pulling-_

“All right.” Niko’s picked up his fork, and he’s using that voice, his _‘I’m taking charge, and we’re going to do what I say because it’s the right thing to do’_ voice.

“That’s enough. It’s _enough._ Tell us what is going on. Why are you here. And what do we need to do to get you to leave.”

Oksana pushes another big forkful of pie into her mouth, and she chews slowly, her eyes never leaving Niko’s pale face. Niko’s clenched fists are on the table, and they’re shaking.

“Well?”

_Oh, Niko, don’t… you big, stupid man, don’t provoke her, don’t demand answers, just shut up and eat your food…_

“You look even more like a pedophile without your mustache, do you realize that? It’s so odd,” Oksana says, squinting at him. Niko glowers, but she only tilts her head, waving her empty fork in his direction. “I’m not sure if it’s something about your _face_ or if you just have this look that says-”

“Please. Just leave us alone,” Niko interrupts, his voice desperate now. “Eve will leave the job, leave the investigation, or whatever this is, and you’ll- you’ll never hear from us again. Just leave us alone, leave-”

“Eve stabbed me.”

Niko closes his mouth, and then he takes a breath and closes his eyes. Defeated. Oksana licks her fork. Her eyes are gleaming.

“Did... did you stab her? Eve?” He doesn’t open his eyes, as if he can’t even look at her.

“I... I…”

“Right in the gut. And it wasn’t even, like, in self-defense,” Oksana says, rolling her eyes back and forth, her words slurring together like some drunk teenage boy. “And the best part- do you want to know where she did it?”

“Oksana, please,” Eve says, pushing her plate away and half-rising from her seat. Oksana’s arm flashes out, and her hand is on her shoulder, pushing her back into her chair, hard. Eve winces as her bottom hits the seat, then she covers her face with her hands, eclipsing the sight of Oksana leaning across the table, her other hand held up beside her mouth like she’s about to tell Niko a terrible secret.

“We were in _bed._ MY bed. We were about to have _sex.”_

Niko opens his eyes. He looks like someone just told him all of the babies in the world have been murdered. Oksana giggles that high, evil, adorable giggle. Eve just looks at her, shaking her head.

_Please, Oksana, please..._

“Sex, huh?” Niko clears his throat. It’s that famous, deceptively casual, passive-aggressive tone again. Eve wants to slap him across the face, and she knows it’s terrible of her, after all, _he’s_ the wronged man here. “And did you?”

“Oh, _really,_ Niko?” Eve says before she can help it. Of all stupid- you’d think he’d _never_ had sex before in his life, never even _heard_ of it.

“Oh, yes we did, of course we did,” Oksana says gleefully, seemingly delighted at Niko’s naivety. “I had blood spilling out of my stomach, all over the bed, it was _very_ messy, but somehow, we managed to get _just_ the right angle to touch-”

“Stop, just _stop,_ Oksana, _Jesus!”_ Eve shouts, waving an angry hand in Oksana’s direction. “Just do what you’re here to do, just- do whatever it is we’re here to do.”

Oksana gives her a funny look and shakes her head, as if amazed by Eve’s sheer lack of intelligence.

“I _am.”_

Eve stares at her, then throws up her hands and glares angrily at the ceiling.

“Fine, then- then stop. Move on. Next step. Now what, do we clean the dishes? Do we- do we crawl around on the floor? Do we go to a dance club and you kill everyone who looks at you funny, do you murder us, grind us up, run us over with your car, _what?”_

“Temper, _temper,”_ Oksana chides, reaching down for her glass of wine and taking a long sip. Eve and Niko watch her, motionless, waiting.

“I am going to answer your questions.”

She leans back and drapes her leg over the armrest of the chair. Eve blinks. So many times, so many days, nights, she’d imagined Oksana in that position, lounging in every chair in every safe house, and now, here she is, in Eve’s kitchen, and it’s… it’s something else. It’s something she wants to remember, keep in her mind. For no good reason, except that it’s perfect, in its twisted, Oksana-y way.

_I'm done. That's it. I'm done for, I'm about to die, my husband is about to die, and I'm just sitting here, and I can't stop thinking about the way this girl sits in her fucking chair-_

“One, there’re a lot of things going on,” Oksana begins, snapping Eve out of her frustrated thoughts. “Might I suggest following the news? The BBC is especially good for locals here in London, and they have some excellent programs, very informative.”

Niko looks incredulous, his face turning an amusing shade of purple, but Eve makes a shushing motion in his direction, and he crosses his arms, leans back in his chair, and says nothing.

“Two, I am here because Eve is here,” Oksana continues, and Eve hisses through her teeth, but when the assassin looks her in the eye, she glances away. She can't, she can’t look at anyone in this room while Oksana is talking about them, about _her,_ she can’t pretend she’s not hanging onto every word with guilt plastered all over her face.

“It’s become somewhat of a tradition of ours, to follow each other. Mostly because of that _stabbing_ incident. Have I mentioned that? I have? Good. It was not an enjoyable experience, and right before _sex?_ Come on, Eve. I was going to be _so_ nice to you.”

Oksana casually picks up her plate and makes a show of bringing it up to her face and licking the gravy from her remaining pie crust. Her eyes stay fixed on Niko’s face as her tongue digs into all the nooks and crannies, leaving the crust completely clean.

The symbolism isn’t lost from that, either.

Niko gives a suppressed little grunt, and looks away, but doesn’t move otherwise from his slouched position. Eve just stares, her mind gone blank, her cheeks bright red. Oksana sets the plate back onto the table and licks her lips, then delicately wipes her face with her dinner napkin while staring at her reflection in the back of a spoon.

“And three, I haven’t left… because Eve hasn’t _asked_ me to leave.”

Niko stares at her. Eve is still staring at the pie crust. Because fuck Oksana and her red fucking tongue, and her red fucking lips, and her bright fucking eyes-

“You… you would leave, if she asked? You would leave, leave us alive, leave us alone, if she asked you to?” Niko demands, leaning forward.

“Of course, it’s only polite,” Oksana says, shrugging and grinning up at the ceiling.

Niko blinks, and blinks again. Then he rests his crossed arms on the table and turns expectantly towards Eve.

“Ask her to leave.” His voice is hard. Challenging. Eve finally tears her eyes away from Oksana’s plate.

“Don't tell me- dammit, Niko, I can't just, you can't-” she stutters.

“Eve. Ask her to leave,” he repeats, and his voice is sterner now, but there’s a slight tremble, a disbelief at her hesitation. Oksana stabs a piece of beef on Eve’s plate and brings it up to her lips, watching the exchange with casual interest.

“It’s not… it’s not that simple.”

“No? It seemed pretty simple when she explained it just now. Ask her to leave, and she leaves, and we move on and we… we pretend none of this happened. We go on living, like we were, like we planned to, for the rest of our lives.”

His voice cracks, and Eve rubs her face with her hands, but she can’t look at him. And she can't look at Oksana. So she takes a deep breath and forces herself to concentrate, forces herself to work through the glasses of wine she's drunk tonight, forces herself to acknowledge that what happens in the next few minutes, the next few seconds will change everything, affect everything.

Because she knows Oksana will do it. She’ll leave, walk out, go on killing, and never come back, with the scar from Eve’s attack on her stomach, and the same reminder between her own ribs, and one day she will make one kill too many and somehow, Eve will hear that she’s dead, lying in a ditch somewhere, or a shallow grave, or some madman’s basement, and she’ll go on with her safe, boring life until one day she retires and moves in a retirement home and eventually dies of a heart attack or cancer or Alzheimer's or old age, with Niko beside her the whole time, holding her hand, whispering comforting, meaningless words to her, strong, safe, dependable Niko-

“I think it’s time for you to go now.”

The room goes silent, as if everyone suddenly stopped breathing. Tears are spilling down Eve’s cheeks, splashing down into her uneaten shepherd’s pie, and her whole face feels hot, as if a thousand people are staring at her instead of two. She feels like laughing again, but she turns and looks at Niko’s face, and his eyes widen with understanding, and then he’s crying too, a trembling hand pressed up to his mustache-less mouth as he stares at her in disbelief.

“Please.”

She doesn’t know which of them says it. Maybe they both do.

“Don’t do this, Eve... fuck, I thought- I thought we would be able to work through this, eventually.”

She doesn't answer.

_Don't make this harder than it already is, Niko, please, Jesus..._

“Eve…” He’s reaching out to her now, pleading. "We can work through this, we can make it work, we _will."_

_We’ll just go home and… and we’ll forget this ever happened._

_“Please.”_ Her voice cracks.

Maybe in a month, or a year, she’ll die an early death with Oksana. Maybe someone will capture her, hold her ransom, torture her, and kill her before Oksana can come bursting in, guns blazing, knives flashing, and she’ll find Eve’s mangled body on the floor. Maybe in a week, Oksana will tire of her and leave.

But Oksana is here. Now.

And she could be anywhere else in the world: Paris, Russia, America, the most expensive luxury resorts of the world, the most exotic vacation destinations, the most dangerous of murderer’s lairs- but she’s here. Making meals in Eve’s kitchen. Eating dinner at Eve’s table. Sleeping in Eve’s bed. Smiling at Eve’s face, touching Eve’s skin, whispering into Eve’s ear.

And the truth is, as long as she’s here, she is hers, she is _hers,_ Oksana is hers, Oksana is Eve’s...

And Eve is Oksana’s.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!!! 
> 
> I realize that this chapter doesn't have as much of the quirky humor of the show, but I also think it's gotten to the point in the fic where having a bit of heartfelt, undiluted angst might actually come as a welcome surprise? Like, I feel that it's not necessary to accentuate _everything_ with humor, and to allow the characters to be a little human for once. (Maybe not Oksana quite yet, but hey, Niko's here. She's not going to start acting human in front of HIM).
> 
>  
> 
> ~~Also, apparently shepherd's pie doesn't actually have crust, but dammit Janet this pie has a fucking crust because the image of Villanelle licking a pie crust clean in order to turn Eve on BELONGS IN THE WORLD~~


	9. Sigh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eve and Oksana have a serious conversation for once.

Eve loads the dishwasher and refuses to let Oksana help.

_No, sit. You made the dinner, I do the dishes. Sit back down. I said SIT._

Niko is gone, and for once, he didn’t make a fuss. In fact, he doesn’t say anything at all, he just pushed away his plate, pulled on his tuxedo jacket, and walked away without looking back, leaving Eve and Oksana alone at the dinner table.

Leaving them alone, in the house full of memories.

Leaving them… alone.

Eve springs to her feet and busies herself with scraping the leftover shepherd’s pie into a tupperware, but she can feel Oksana’s eyes on her back as she takes shakey steps to the fridge. Just one foot in front of the other, just… She pauses, one hand on the door handle.

Someone wrote _HELP I’M A FRIDGE_ with the magnetic letters.

Eve snorts, and for a moment, she teeters dangerously close to losing all semblance of composure, but she pushes closed the door _(the door shuts),_ shuffles back to the sink _(one foot in front of the other, Eve),_ fumbles blindly with the sink handles _(up is ON, you stupid idiot),_ and hot water gushes out, scalding the grease and gravy from the dirty plates.

There’s something about boiling the skin off of one’s hands that brings the senses back into perspective.

“Hey… hey. What’s wrong?”

But Oksana is here. And it’s impossible. And it’s that impossibility that is sending her life, her world, her sense of _balance_ into a tizzy, as her mother would say _(Eve, child, you’re going to spin yourself into a tizzy)._

_“Eve.”_

And Eve can smell her before she can feel her, as if her nose is now trained to pick out that fresh, complex scent, with its notes and layers that Eve can’t even name. It presses in around her, deep blue and dark green and royal purple and flecks of light yellow, like Oksana’s body is pressing against her back, and her arms around her waist, and her breath is on her neck, and Eve is standing here, her face already sweating from the hot water, and her hands are red and tingly and greasy, and she’s still wearing this ridiculously beautiful blue dress, and Oksana is hugging her, and Niko is gone, and the world should feel terrible right now, but...

“I can’t.”

Oksana stiffens against her, but her tone is light as she replies,

“Then just put them in the dishwasher and put it on...” Oksana leans to the side to look at the panel. “Heavy Wash.”

_Is that a sweater, attached to a shirt?_

Eve bites her lip, takes a deep breath, and Oksana’s arms move in tandem with her body, as if she’s the one pushing oxygen in and out of her, keeping her alive.

“Can you not- just for once in your life, can you be _serious?”_ Eve demands, dropping the sponge as the hot water becomes unbearably hot. Oksana reaches over and turns it off, and silence sweeps into the room.

_Oksana…_

It’s as if the colors of her perfume are whispering her name.

“Let me do the dishes, Eve,” Oksana breathes in her ear, like some working woman’s dream come true. “And then I will make tea, and we can sit on the couch and talk. We can talk about whatever you want to talk about. Okay?”

Eve wants to melt. She wants to stand here, tucked into Oksana’s warm embrace forever. She wants to turn around and meet Oksana’s warm, greasy mouth with her own, and let the assassin bend her over the sink, hands pressed against her back, lips pressed against her throat.

“I’ve… I’ve already started, just- let me finish.”

Oksana squeezes her so tight that Eve thinks for a moment that she’s trying to suffocate her, then she lets go and saunters across the kitchen without a backwards glance. Eve watches her, then she shakes her head and goes back to the dishes. Oksana takes it upon herself to water the shriveled up plants, then she puts on a kettle and rummages around the pantry for the packs of tea.

She’s waiting on the couch with two empty cups when Eve timidly walks over, her hands clean, the dishwasher gurgling in the background, and the kitchen full of shadows.

“I know you prefer wine, but I think tea would be best. For tonight.”

Her voice is low, knowing, teasing. Eve ignores the shiver that runs down her spine and takes a random teabag from the box. And then she watches as her water gradually stains. Oksana watches her.

“So.”

Oksana grins at her and sprawls back against the couch, elbow crooked, head resting against her palm.

_“So.”_

_Oksana, please…_

“No.”

 _“No?!”_ Oksana’s hurt expression is exaggerated, infuriating.

“I mean _no,_ Oksana,” Eve snaps, dumping too much sugar into her tea. “Look, if you can’t have a single serious conversation, then there’s no point in-”

“Do you think we’ve never had a serious conversation?” Oksana reaches out, and for a short, panicked moment, Eve thinks she’s going for her face, going to tuck her hair behind her ears, like she had, all those months ago… but she only takes the sugar bowl away from her and helps herself to a spoonful of sugar.

She takes a spoonful of sugar. And eats it. Her serious facade doesn’t crack for a second. Eve scowls and takes a sip of her tea. It’s some weird, orange-y tangy flowery flavor, and it’s so sweet, it’s like eating hot, melted ice cream.

_Oh, Jesus, that’s gross._

“So what is it you wanted to have a serious conversation about?”

Eve goes for another sip.

Her mouth is dry.

“I… want to know what you want. Really, honestly, this time.”

Oksana stares at her, and her gaze is as intense as it had been in that bathroom, in that forest, the last time they’d met in this same house. The sugar bowl is still in her hand, the damp spoon resting against the edge.

“Okay.” Oksana shifts to put the dish back down onto the low coffee table, then she curls back up on the couch, fetal position, like that one time, in a bed in Paris.

“I want to fuck you.”

Eve stares. Her heart leaps into her throat.

“And not in like, a backseat somewhere, or a storeroom. I want a good, long, thoughtful fuck in a nice bed.”

She reaches out and takes Eve’s hands. They’re trembling.

“I want to make you moan. I want to watch as you grab the sheets, shaking like you can’t help it.”

She scoots closer, and she presses her hand over Eve’s pounding heart. And all she can do is stare back at the assasin like some… some stupid person, breathless, uncomprehending.

“I want you to feel safe. So then you never want to hide a knife around me again.”

Her hands are on her wrists now, lightly pressing them down onto the cushion as she leans forward and plants a kiss on Eve’s clammy forehead.

“I want you to stay. With me. I want to kiss you before I leave, and kiss you when I get back. Like in the movies.”

Eve tries to raise a hand, to touch her. Just… to touch her. But Oksana’s fingers close tight around her wrists, holding them in place.

“I want to buy you things. You’ve spent too long wearing these awful clothes that you don’t even like.”

Eve shifts uncomfortably and Oksana’s lips lift into a satisfied smile.

“This.”

Oksana leans forward and brushes her nose against hers.

“This is what I want.”

Her perfume is intoxicating.

Her touch is intoxicating.

“Do you want this?”

_I can’t. I shouldn’t._

Eve moves her hand, and Oksana’s fingers fall away. But she reaches up and touches dark blond hair, and Oksana sighs and leans into her palm.

 _“Eve…”_ Her voice is low and heavy with lust, and Eve’s other hand moves up to brush over high cheekbones, down a long, soft neck. Down, over a sharp collarbone. Down, over cool silk. Oksana groans softly, then leans in and kisses her, good and hard, like they’ve done this a thousand times, and each time has left Eve feeling like she’s falling slowly, weightless, like she’s being drawn into some black hole of no return.

 _“This isn’t right,”_ she murmurs, her head spinning as she pushes the assassin down into the cushions. Oksana’s teeth bite lightly at her lips as she smiles.

“When has that ever stopped you?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!! (Sorry for making you wait??) I _still_ have no plot for this fic, so I've just been writing as the spirit moves me... :D
> 
> I'm amazed at how active this fandom has been lately!!! Well done everyone for the stellar content!


	10. One Way Or Another

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up, this chapter in nonlinear!

Eve wakes to a familiar, terrifying feeling.

Pain.

Helplessness.

_Wake up, wake up, wake up..._

She lurches up from the bed, ignoring Oksana’s mumbling in her sleep beside her.

She can’t move, she can’t, she can’t…

Her arms are sleep.

And if she moves, she’ll jar them, and if she jars them...

_Fuck, fuck, fuck, Jesus Christ, God DAMN these stupid fucking arms, if I can get to the kitchen, I can get a knife, cut these fucking things off—_

It’s still before dawn.

Oksana shifts, as if she’s about to open her eyes and smile a soft, silly smile at her, but she only sighs and buries her head deeper into the pillow.

_What time did we LEAVE last night—_

 

* * *

 

Oksana’s childishness still gets on her nerves sometimes.

_No, YOU go ice skating, and I’ll stand here and clap for you every time you skate past—_

_Two pairs of skates please. 6 1/2 and 7._

_Oksana, I said n—_

But the assassin had only grabbed the skates by the laces, grinned at Eve’s frustrated face, and insisted on sliding the skates onto Eve’s reluctant feet herself.

_I’m too old for this, look at them, they’re all kids and—and parents with their kids—_

_Come on._

_I swear you’re just doing this to get a laugh out of me falling on my ass._

They’re here because Oksana’s keeping an eye on someone she’s going to murder, but Eve doesn’t ask about it as they circle the rink, passing the shrieking children and laughing parents. Eve mutters in Oksana’s ear about how those adults with their cell phones out while they skate are a few sliced fingers waiting to happen, but Oksana takes her hand and leads her across the ice, catching her as she slips and stumbles.

_Is this a ruse to get me to exercise? Because I’m already mad you made me walk up that trail to the waterfall that I could see from the car—_

And Oksana skates her to the edge of the rink and kisses her, right there, in front of the hazardous parents and screaming children, and she shuts up.

Later, the sun is swallowed by the boulders lining the dusky horizon, and a bitter wind bites into Eve’s eyes, stinging her red cheeks, and the rink goes quiet as the families leave, one by one, until it’s only them… and Oksana is holding her as she shivers, and slowly spinning them around and around on the ice, and the floodlights are making looming shadows of the thick evergreens, and there’s a car revving in a distance… and Eve doesn’t want to know.

She doesn’t want to know who Oksana’s here to kill. She doesn’t want to know what they’re doing in the States, in the middle of the wilderness in California. She knows why Oksana booked them into the most expensive room in the most expensive hotel within a hundred mile radius, but she doesn’t know how, why, who; she just knows… she knows from Oksana’s tender embraces and dancing eyes that it will happen tonight, and that some matter of horror will await the park when the sun rises.

 

* * *

 

“Anyway, I convinced Carolyn to give you your job back. Your MI5 job. I told her you were mentally unstable, and that you needed professional help. And in order to _afford_ professional help, you needed a steady income.”

Eve lets her fork drop down into a pat of baba ghanoush and groans.

“What? I thought you’d be happy.”

“I am—no, really, I am. Thank you,” Eve says quickly, before Elena can get offended. “I’m just… Carolyn and I didn’t end well, last time we met.”

“You mean when you shot her?”

Eve stares.

“You… you know about that?”

“Mm hmm.” Elena shoves a forkful of fattoush into her mouth and chews. “She said you got her right in the heart. And then she did that little thing where she straightens up and she looked at me and said, ‘No pun intended.’”

 _“Jesus,_ she hates me,” Eve grumbles, picking up a knife and stabbing her falafel.

“Can’t say I blame her,” Elena says conversationally. Eve shrugs and goes back to chewing her food, her eyes darting across the bustling restaurant to the dreary London afternoon outside.

“Are you ever going to tell me what happened with her?”

Eve startles, mid-chew.

“What, with Carolyn?”

 _“No,_ with… you know.”

_The woman you almost got us all killed for. The woman who killed Bill, who killed Frank, who tricked you into thinking you killed Carolyn, and who almost killed YOU._

“There’s… really nothing to say. She’s gone.”

“You’re a terrible liar, you know.”

“Well, that’s all you’re getting.”

“You’re fucking her, aren’t you. You’re totally fucking her, oh my god, Eve, it’s _true,_ your face, I can tell from your face, are you fucking _insane?!”_

 

* * *

 

She’s still afraid, sometimes.

Not that Oksana will disappear, like she had from that forest road, from that bloody mess of a bed. She knows that one day, Oksana will leave, whether it’s from an assassination attempt gone wrong, or because her young, reckless mind drew her away from Eve’s side, and she never thought to look back.

But she’s afraid that one day, she’ll wake up, and she’ll be old, and she’ll be in a hospital bed somewhere, surrounded by sterile lights and scratchy sheets and beeping machines—

And Oksana will be there.

Oksana will still be there, at her side.

A little older. A little less innocent, a little less devil-may-care. A little less… childish. She’ll be wiser, more understanding about how the world works, the _real_ world, and the common people, the people who go to work in the morning, and take their lunch breaks with their coworkers, and go grocery shopping, and make shepherd’s pie for dinner, and play bridge with their friends at night…

 _You made it,_ Eve will say, and Oksana will grin and whisper,

_I wouldn’t miss it._

And Eve will stare at her, the years and years they spend chasing each other flashing before her eyes, years spent together, living together, working together, eating together, watching movies together, having sex together… and she’ll realize—

It was real.

It was real, what they had, it wasn’t stockholm syndrome, it wasn’t some game of cat-and-mouse, it wasn’t the thrill of the chase, it was _real,_ their relationship, their whirlwind romance, their fraying tolerance of each other, the way they always end up together, always, no matter what, in the same hotel rooms, the same apartments, the same safe houses, tearing into each other like there’s no tomorrow—

And that’s when Eve slips out of bed, shoves her things back into her bag, and leaves.

 

* * *

 

_...this isn’t right._

_When has that ever stopped you?_

_Please, just—_

Oksana’s kisses are precise. It’s like she’s reading Eve’s body, sensing where she wants to be touched before the thought even crosses her mind. She has Eve hanging off of a precipice, clinging to the lifeboat, grasping for the rescue line, but she knows—they both know, either way, they’re going to fall, drown, burn. It’s all part of the plan.

“Stop thinking.”

Oksana punctuates her words with a bite on her neck, and Eve moans.

“Not here.”

“What?” Oksana’s hands are fumbling with her dress now, unzipping the back, slipping the straps off her shoulders.

“Not here. Take me to bed.”

“You really want us to have sex in the bed you shared with your _husb—”_

_“Now.”_

 

* * *

 

Sometimes, she sees a light where a light hadn’t been left on, and she parks her car and sits in the dark for a long moment, staring silently at the door, or the window, the terrace. Sometimes the rain spills down the windshield, and the light turns to a blurred, tantalizing sparkle. Sometimes she can imagine that she can see Oksana’s shadow, moving inside that house, on that porch, in that backyard, setting the table for dinner like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

Sometimes, she forces herself to move, pushes herself out of her car, shuts the door, and finds that it’s true: Oksana is there, standing there, staring at her through the shadows, like that one night in her hallway in her old house, standing, casually, waiting for her as if she does this every night.

Sometimes Eve strolls forward and unthinkingly leans forward to kiss her hello.

Sometimes, she just ignores the assassin, pushes her way past, and locks herself in her room, curling up on the bed, hugging herself, hating herself, until the deadbolt turns, and the bed dips down and cool hands and a warm tongue soothe her anger and worries and guilt.

 

* * *

 

“I swear, you’re trying to kill me.”

“Come _onnn._ You love me.”

They’re having breakfast on some cliff. Cold toast. Sausage. Bacon. Hot chocolate in thermoses. The park is in an uproar. The first murder on the grounds in nearly twenty years.

It’s still early morning, and there’s a light dusting of snow over the dirt and smooth granite, but Oksana had no qualms about driving their all-wheel-drive rental up a series of uncleared roads and making Eve get out to enjoy the view. And granted, it is a beautiful view, the sun rising over the snowy trees, the frosted boulders.

But the statement sours her mouthful of bread and bacon, and she only grunts in reply.

“I didn’t quite get that.”

Eve swallows and scowls.

“I… I said I don’t love you.”

“Ah.”

A cold, crisp silence falls, and Oksana digs around the knapsack for the apple she’d taken last night from the hotel’s reception desk.

“Is it the murders? The... _job?”_ Oksana asks, articulating the last word like it’s some forbidden curse.

Eve draws her legs up to her chest, her hiking booted feet slipping momentarily on icy stone.

“No.”

Oksana raises an eyebrow. Her expression doesn’t change as she takes a massive bite. The snap of teeth meeting apple flesh echoes over the snow and Eve snorts.

“You’re an asshole.”

Oksana waves at her full mouth as she chews, and Eve takes advantage of the delay to scoot her cold butt over to the assassin’s.

“I hate you. I really do. You are… without a doubt the _worst_ thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Oksana purses her lips and nods, looking impressed. Eve wants to smack her, but she shoves her mittened hands underneath her armpits and stares out over the awakening valley instead.

“But we’re here, aren’t we? We’re here. We’ll always be here. Somewhere. It’s… it’s just how it happened. One way or another, we’ll keep ending up like this. Running. Fighting. Fucking. It’s… there’s nothing to be done about it. It’s just how it is.”

_And I couldn’t imagine it any other way._

She can feel Oksana staring at her, apple pulp still dribbling down her chin, but she doesn’t turn to look at her. The mist over the valley is beginning to burn off, and sunlight is already glowing off of the granite faces, brushing over the treetops. It’s beautiful, like some painting, like some romantic scene from a movie.

Oksana’s fingers reach out and trail down over her cheek, like they had that first time they found themselves in bed together, and her eyes are soft. She leans in to kiss her, and her lips taste like apple. And Eve wants to reach out and hold her, pull her close, and never let go. But her hands are so cold, her feet are cold, her parka-covered body is cold, so she just sits there like a frozen lump and lets Oksana kiss her like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“We should get going.”

Eve has a flight back to London. Oksana… she doesn’t know what Oksana has. Maybe it will be days, weeks, months before she sees her again, before she shows up in her kitchen, her hotel room, her-

“Can we find a bathroom somewhere before we go? I don’t know if I can hold it until we get to the city.”

Oksana rolls her eyes without stopping from packing up their breakfast, and points to some rustic looking hut up the road. Eve squints and hesitates, weighing the costs of braving what’s definitely a hole in the ground and just waiting it out for three hours. Oksana notices her indecisiveness and raises an eyebrow, looking back and forth between them.

“You know, I have a thing for bathrooms.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Eve snaps, making up her mind and giving Oksana a shove as she walks past. But she’s smiling.

They both are.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this fic, and for your patience with the slow updates! I've absolutely loved exploring these two characters and a new, more comedic style of writing, and it's been a blast creating this little offering to an amazing fandom! 
> 
> But really, thank you so much, I'm so grateful for your comments, kudos, bookmarks, kind words, etc. etc. etc. You all are amazing. :)
> 
> P. S. The title of this chapter isn't from the show, but it came from that incredible fanvid on youtube YOU KNOW THE ONE :D


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